


New wand for the weary

by Siff



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Takes place between Gof and OrtP, The Ollivanders wand shop, Wand finding, Wand lore (kinda), mention of Sirius´family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-26 19:37:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/969517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siff/pseuds/Siff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. Ollivander has a late night customer</p>
            </blockquote>





	New wand for the weary

The old clock in the backroom chimed once and Ollivander woke with a startle. He looked around, finding he shop as silent as the grave and slowly rose from his chair. His back complained loudly as he stretched it, his arms raised over his head, carefully moving muscle which had been locked in one position for hours.

He really had to stop falling asleep behind his desk; it never gave him anything but pain in his old limbs anyway. 

He absent-minded waved his hand, making the cold cup of tea disappear from the desk, along with the empty plate that earlier that evening had held a sandwich. Another wave of his hand and the lights on the wall died out. He walked to the door, locking it as he looked out through the dusty window. 

The street was empty at this hour. Dark and wet. A rare sight this summer. The weather had been dry and hot all day, and the day before, and the day before that. Rain was rare indeed and many said to not expect it at all this summer. Yet it had happen while he slept. Nature’s magic.

He pulled down the curtain over the window and returned to the desk. He gathered his book and his notes, closing the lid on his ink, and wiped his quill of in piece of ink stained fabric. He turned off his desk lamp and went down the aisles between the narrow shelves, book and papers under his arm. As he made the short walk, his eyes wandered over the many small boxes stacked on the shelves. 

And he wondered.

How many of them would find new owners in just a month or two? How many had already left his shop, packed away in bags along with newly bought books and ingredients? How many had found their way to young hands, eager to learn how a single piece of magic could create so much more?

Yes he wondered indeed. Only one thing could bring is old heart a greater joy than making these wands, and that was seeing them unite with their wizard or witch. 

A joyful occasion, sure to become rare the next few years. Darkness was closing in, slowly but powerful. He could feel it. A storm was brewing. 

The thought was tiring. He was too old for another war. Still, what could he do but fight? What could any of them do but fight?

Oh he felt too old indeed. 

He lit the backroom and put the book away along with the papers on the small table. He looked at the old clock: quarter past one. He went to the backdoor, pushing a large box aside as he did. He unlocked and opened it slightly, the wood releasing its frame silently, and he looked out into the night. 

There was nothing special about the little space behind his shop. It was a dark corner with only a trashcan and a few wooden boxes stacked along the wall. But this night there was something else.

It was hard to see, but Ollivander had eyes that often saw more than ones much younger, and he easily spotted it.

It was huddle against the wall, wet and shaking. He smiled and shook his head. Foolish boy, waiting in the rain.

He opened the door wider and it lifted its dark head.

“Well, don´t just stare at me. Come on in.” He urged and stepped aside.

It was on its feet in seconds, bouncing past him and into the backroom. He quickly looked around before stepping back inside and closing the door. Then he turned and smiled.

The dog was large. Larger than any dog he had ever seen. It fur was black as night and its eyes watched him with an intelligence normally unseen in such an animal. It sat by door that lead to the shop, the floor under its large paws was wet and droplets of water fell from its ears. 

He frowned in annoyance, “Are you planning to soak my entire floor or just this spot?” he asked “I also have a carpet if that is in your interest.”

The dog grinned at him, its tongue rolling out of its mouth as it began bashing its tail back and forth. He raised an eyebrow at it and it lowered its head in something that could be read as shame. It could have worked if the grin wasn´t still planted on its face, and if Ollivander didn´t know exactly who he was dealing with.

“Turn, boy,” he said and turned his back to the dog, locking the door with a wave of his hands “we don´t have all night.”

“How did you know?” 

He turned back around and saw a man standing where the dog had been. He was tall and dressed in worn robes, his hair long and hanging like wet strands in his face. Ollivander took a closer look in the dim light in the backroom and saw how hull the cheeks were, how large the eyes looked in the pale face.

He would only be lying if he said he wasn´t shocked. He had seen pictures of him in the Daily Prophet, both before and after his infamous escape. He had seen him before his arrest, with light and life in his eyes despite the dark times. And yet he was shocked, for what he remembered best, was a little, dark-haired boy, flanked by a much smaller boy Ollivander would see again in a few years, and a tall, tightlipped woman who he knew by name but not wand. The boys, whose wand had chosen him quickly (only a few dozens were tried, not exactly a record beater but close enough) had at that time seem full of life and expectations. A smile so unlike the rest of his family, and reputation soon to separate him fully from them, judging by the stories he had heard from his old friends at the school. There was no trace of that boy standing before him.

He smiled sadly, “I know more than most people do, Black.”

Sirius Black nodded like he understood and used a hand to push wet strands of hair out of his face. “Still,” he said, his voice sounded rough “how did you know it was me.”

“Dumbledore told me,” Ollivander said and walked over to the little kitchen in the corner.

“He told you I am an animagus?” Black asked, sounding surprised.

“Of course not,” said Ollivander and knocked his wand against the kettle, the water began to boil, “He merely told me I would have a late night visitor, the rest was not that hard to see.”

Black snorted behind him and mumbled something about old people and scary magic.

“Dry off, would you? You´re still dripping like a wet dog. There’s a bathroom out through that door.” He pointed at another door leading to the staircase and the bathroom. Black grunted something before leaving through the door. He returned after a few minutes, his hair no longer dripping. Black threw his wet robe over the back of a chair and sat down by the small table.

Ollivander prepared the tea and another sandwich which he place in front of the boy, who stared at it with large eyes before attacking it ravenous. It was gone in three big bites and Ollivander quickly prepared a new one. This one lasted longer as Black seemed to have remembered his manners, he nodded his thank and drank his tea slowly, his fingers wrapped around the cup.

Ollivander drank his tea slowly, silently watching Black as the younger man poured himself another cup. How long had he been waiting outside? And in the rain no less.

“They broke it, didn´t they?” 

Black looked up sharply, cup raised to his lip. “What?”

“Your wand, Mr. Black,” said Ollivander “Cedar with a dragon core, 15 inches, surprisingly swishy.”

Black nodded “That´s the one. I don´t know what happened to it though. They could have stored it away somewhere in the Ministry, which I find pretty unlikely. They probably broke it…” 

Ollivander had known that was probably the case, yet it still hurt to hear. “And now you need a new one?”

“I don´t like walking around unarmed.” said Black with a shrug. Ollivander narrowed his eyes but Black kept his gaze on his cup. 

“Fine,” Ollivander said and stood up, “after all, it’s only your second wand, so the chance of finding a new one is relatively large. Come along.”

He walked back into the store with Black behind him. He lit a single light amongst the shelves and began digging around.

“Let’s try something similar, shall we,” he said and hoped down the ladder “Cedar and dragon core, 12 inches, a little stubborn. Try it!”

Wands knew it when the right hand took them. They choose after their own personalities and liking, and it never stopped amazing Ollivander. He was a well-known wandmaker and took great pride in always finding the right match between a wizard and a wand, (well, that was that one case back in 1967, but he tended not to think about that one,) but as the stack between him and young Black grew, he couldn’t help but get a little worried.

It was not unusual that a wizard or witch lost or broke their wands during their youth. An accident at school was not as rare as one should think, and he had a few years ago often sold several wands to an unlucky boy from Hogwarts during his school years.

But Blacks case was not usual. The boy he had seen so many years ago was gone, yet the man who could have been there was absent too. He wasn´t sure a wand would find that mix likeable.

“Don´t worry, boy, we´ll find one for you.” Ollivander said and crawled to the top of the ladder.

Black laughed below him, “I´m hardly a boy anymore, Ollivander.”

Ollivander reached for another little box, only his left foot remained on the top step “Until you reach seventy, you are a boy to me.”

“All right, all right.” grinned Black as Ollivander hopped down the ladder.

“Try this, apple tree and unicorn, 11 inches.”

It went on for another hour or so. Ollivander tended to loose sense of time as he worked his way along the shelves. The pile grew and so did Blacks impatience and sorrow over not finding a wand. Ollivander kept going though; not willing to let the younger mans past effect his future.

He grabbed another two boxes and opened one of them, “Here we go; Red oak, dragon core and 13 inches, very loyal.” He handed it too Black.

As soon as Blacks fingers closed around the wood, sparks erupted from the tip of the wand like a fountain. Ollivander saw the relief and joy in young Blacks face and felt a deep satisfaction. He had not failed.

“I think we have a match.” He said and placed the other box back on the shelf.

Black was smiling at him, a true smile as he held up his wand in front of his eyes, studying it closely. He gave it a swing and the pile a wands came to life and every one of them returned to their boxes which flew back to shelves, where they landed exactly where Ollivander had taken them from.

“Oi!” snapped Ollivander and smacked Black in the back of his head “no one juggles my wands around but me.”

He tried to glare sternly at Black, but the man had a glint in his eyes as he laughed and gave his wand another swing, making the light on the wall blink in different colors, and for a moment, Ollivander once again saw that little boy from so many years ago.

**Author's Note:**

> Simply came from me wondering how Sirius got his new wand. Nothing else. One note though, Sirius´ new wand was destroyed when Bellatrix killed him (in the movie), that's why I say its very loyal. I my mind it would not tolerate any new owner.
> 
> Thanks for reading^^
> 
> Oh and I own nothing!!!!


End file.
